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Rædwald
No sooner had the Easterling fallen from his horse than a bone crushing thunk . . . thunk sounded behind Rædwald. His face took on a grimace of surprise fading to a look of fondness and regret as he cast a look at Meghan.
Two arrows sunk deep in his back, followed by another then as it hit him in the chest, sinking toward the old soldier’s heart. Death’s garden bloomed on the field of his tunic; its red flowers growing and spreading until the source of their nourishment was spent altogether. He tumbled from his saddle and lay at last on the cold ground of his last battle, sightless eyes staring into the bloody melee as it swirled about him.
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Meghan
She was no seasoned warrior to keep her emotions well in check in the twists and turns of battle. Meghan jumped down from her horse and ran to where Rædwald lay. Her face was as pale as his as she held his heavy head in her arms and keened over him.
In some, anger might then have fueled her actions, and had she been a shield-maiden of the Mark she might have risen up like a berserker and slain many of the foe. But she was not so. The fight had gone out of her at the death of her friend; his death siphoning of her spirit even as his fled his cold remains.
It was an easy thing, then, for one of Easterlings afoot to knock her senseless with his club and hand her up to one of his fellows on horse. She offered no resistance in her dazed state as he carried her back to his Lord.
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